


The New Kid

by volatileSoloist



Series: The New Kid [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Insubordinate behavior, Memory Issues, Mentions of Mental Illness, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Unrequited Crush, big brother McCree to the rescue, half-feral!Junkrat, ignoring canon timelines is fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-08-11 15:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7897735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloist/pseuds/volatileSoloist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He's young, half-feral and dangerously thin for his age, but he's got more bite 'n fight in him than most soldiers from the super soldier program. And talent - the boy has talent. Reyes was never one to ignore talent. </p><p>+ McCree expressing Concerns over Reyes' recruitment of a kid that isn't even eighteen yet<br/>++ Big brother McCree<br/>+++ Including Junkrat's "treasure" (perhaps he found it earlier, and Overwatch sought him out because of it?)"</p><p>Anonymous prompt fill on <a href="https://overwatch-kink.dreamwidth.org/679.html?thread=218023#cmt218023">DreamWidth</a>, done from McCree's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Gunfire. Jesse can hear gunfire. A shrill, wailing siren pierces the air, and he feels as though every fiber of his being is standing on end. Blood pounds like a drum in his ears, and he feels the familiar spark of adrenaline coursing through his system. Someone in the gang had betrayed them, and he has to run. He knows, instinctively, that his time is up, but how can he flee when his gang needs him most?_

_His hands shake faintly as he reaches down toward his holster. Where is his gun? A tall, unforgiving figure stands before him, and he’s helpless._

_How can he give up so easily?_

——

Jesse wakes with a jolt and promptly falls off the break room couch and onto the cold steel floor. As he lays there, stunned, he hears the klaxon from his dreams sounding outside. He peels his face off the dirty panels, rubs the thin scruff that covers his cheeks, and glances around quickly to see what’s on fire— _there had_ better _be something on fire._

However, upon seeing no flames in his immediate vicinity, he takes a moment to calm down, breathing in and out to the beat of the siren. Come to think of it, it’s not a police car at all: what he’s hearing is the wailing and chirping of an ambulance. Given how loud it is, it must be parked just outside the break room. 

He grumbles and brushes off the dust bunnies that cling to him like cobwebs, settling back on the sofa with a sigh. Whatever’s causing the siren can wait; it’s not his responsibility to fix every single one of Overwatch’s problems. Hell, the building can burn down for all he cares.

At any rate, it’s not as though he’s in the Deadlock Gang anymore; he can afford to be a little more lax now that the threat of law enforcement isn’t an issue. Technically, he _is_ the law enforcement… imagine that. He’d gotten out of a life sentence by the skin of his teeth; now, he’s essentially immune to the law.

Not that he can really put it to practice, though; his lieutenant commander hovers over him at practically every opportunity, and it seems that he has eyes and ears everywhere—he can hardly scratch his ass without the guy knowing about it. He’s quite frankly surprised to not see the man anywhere in sight; he hasn’t even sent anyone to wake him up. A rare moment of peace, it seems, even with the commotion in the background.

As his pulse slows, he begins to feel the familiar prickle of annoyance. No matter what the urgency of the emerging situation is, he doesn’t take kindly to his _siestas_ being disrupted by minute problems. He adjusts the collar of his stifling uniform—the whole damn thing was too big; it had been someone else’s before it was his—and tips his worn, floppy hat over his face, ready to drift off once more.

“Hey, _vaquero_ , get up.” A quick whack to the back of his head causes his hat to slide down and into his lap. _Goddamnit._

Jesse groans. “Dear God, man, leave me be. Can’tcha see I’m busy?”

Despite all his reluctance, this isn’t a command he can just ignore. When faced with insubordination, his lieutenant commander can be as unforgiving as the floor Jesse’s face had been so brutally acquainted with only a moment ago. Turning to groggily stare Gabriel Reyes in the eye, he croaks out, “What’s the matter?”

Reyes gives him a quick once-over, his expression cold save for the look in his dark eyes, which betrays a subtle hint of warmth. “First off, you shouldn’t be sleeping in the breakroom. You have your own goddamn bed, and you’re going to ruin your neck tilting it back like that.”

“Save it, Mom.”

“Save _me_ the attitude, _cabrón_ ,” Reyes shoots back, “and get off your ass. I called an emergency meeting ten minutes ago, and you’re the last one to show up. Don’t make me come find you again.”

With that, Reyes stalks off, back straight and arms swinging slightly at his side—the remnants of his time as an actual soldier. His black, streamlined attire blends in with the darkness of the room as he disappears from sight. Wait, darkness? What time was it, even?

A perfunctory glance at the clock on the wall reveals that it was already past midnight. How had he fallen asleep in the breakroom _again_? Not that there was a huge problem with it, but the last time it happened he’d woken up with dicks drawn all over his face. With that thought in mind, Jesse stands and hurries to the small, adjoined bathroom to sneak a look in the mirror; his face was mercifully blank, as much from the common decency of others as from his own weariness.

Still, what’s important enough to warrant a meeting in the middle of the night? He makes his way through quiet halls and toward the elevators. Passing by a few windows, he peeks outside to see the flashing red-and-blue lights of the ambulance illuminating up the steel-and-concrete courtyard outside as it casts odd shadows. _Who got their shit kicked in this time?_ He chuckles, but only for a moment, and quickly makes his way toward Blackwatch’s headquarters all the same. The situation must be pretty grim for Reyes to have called an emergency meeting.

When he finally arrives in the dreary but spacious basement-level meeting rooms Blackwatch calls home—he got it; they were a pretty shady branch, but they didn’t have to be so _cliché_ about it—and notices that he truly is the last person to arrive. He‘s surrounded by Overwatch’s rejects: disobedient ex-soldiers, former outlaws like himself, and dishonorable discharges given a second chance.

Blackwatch is one of many subsections in Overwatch’s overarching structure, but is split down into its own small units. The infiltrators, Lucas, Hawthorne, Quill, Capet and Ling sit in a huddle, muttering blearily amongst themselves. Hawthorne clutched a coffee cup in tight, scarred hands, but what else was new? The tech specialists are hunched around a glowing terminal in a nearby corner, speaking in soft tones. McCree has never really had the opportunity to get to know them, but he recognizes a few faces, all bearing expressions of varying degrees of seriousness and disinterest. Their field medic Haines is chatting with the chemist, Browning, but not loudly enough for Jesse to catch any of the details.

“Thank you for finally joining us, Jesse.” Reyes spares him a single, derisive glance—the man is hardly ever as doting in public as when he is in private, when he can stick his nose in Jesse’s business as he pleases—before promptly turning the rest of the assembled and waiting members. Jesse ignores their stares and settles into a seat in the infiltrators’ orbit as Reyes began to speak.

“As I am sure you are all aware, we received an ambulance only a half an hour ago. I suppose I should start by reassuring you that no, no one is injured. Instead, that ambulance carried our newest member.” He picks up a small, manilla file from the metal desk in front of him and flips it open. “Our recruit is a demolitions expert named Jamison Fawkes. It seems only right to warn you, hardened discipline cases that you all are, that he comes from Junkertown, Australia.”

It takes a lot to faze Jesse, but this piques his interest. He isn’t the only one, either; there are a few surprised glances bouncing around, quiet whispers breaking the silence. Everyone knows about the Omnium explosion that laid waste to the Outback; Overwatch’s missions to provide aid had been nothing but failures. By the time the worst of the radiation had cleared, the desert had become overrun with lawless scavengers who didn’t take kindly to intervention. With very little that could actually be done to restore the land, the organization decided not to waste its scant funding with what would have been a massive peacekeeping mission. As long as the so-called “Junkers” didn’t invade Sydney or any other surrounding towns, no one really cared much about a godless city of lunatics in the middle of nowhere.

But all this happened a few years back; he hadn’t even joined up with Overwatch yet. Why were they just now bringing in some random guy from the wastelands?

The group quiets down when Reyes raised a hand for silence, and all eyes settle on him, eager to hear a reason for this strange decision.

“He’s somewhat feral, so it will take a while to integrate him into the team. I would advise you all to be vigilant; he’s a packrat and a pyromaniac to boot. Honestly, we wouldn't be bothering with him if we didn't think he'd be valuable to our organization.”

Browning scoffs. “What do you mean, valuable? I bet I can build a better bomb than some half-brained maniac from the ass-end of nowhere.”

Reyes rolls his eyes, face drawn with derision. “Be that as it may, he’s something of a prodigy. He’s in quarantine, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he could blow his way out with nothing but his IV and monitor.”

The chemist opens his mouth, probably about to talk more trash, but Jesse speaks up first. “Prodigy? How old is this guy you’ve dragged in?”

The lieutenant commander scans the file again. “Fourteen.”

Jesse is dumbfounded. “ _Fourteen_?” He all but barks out, “The hell are you thinking, bringing a _kid_ into a military covert ops unit?”

“I’d like to remind you that you were fairly young when you joined.” Reyes’ voice, steady and reasonable as always, enrages Jesse. How can he not see how fundamentally _wrong_ this is?

“Yeah,” he spits, “and it was _damn stupid_. It’s not like I had—”

“This is not up for negotiation,” Reyes interjects, putting a callused, unyielding palm up to halt further responses. “I’d advise that you make your peace with it, as you’ll be working with him soon enough.” _Damn pain in the ass._

Reyes pauses for a moment before smirking. “Really, I’m surprised at your fuss. It’s not like you to be so concerned about anything, much less other people.”

Jesse huffs. “You know damn well this ain’t the same.”

Reyes’ eyes soften almost imperceptibly. For all he claims to be a cold and pragmatic man, he just can’t seem to deny his inherent empathy. It’s well-hidden, but it’s there. “Well, if you’re _that_ worried, I might as well just assign you to be the kid’s mentor. Is that what you want? After all, responsibility normally seems to just bounce right off you.” And just like that, Reyes’ kindness is gone. It pisses Jesse off even worse than Reyes’ endless attempts to parent him.

He bites back a scathing remark. The last thing he wants is for Reyes to revoke his offer. Leaning back in his chair, he gives a terse nod.

The lieutenant commander snorts. “Well, you’re about the right age to play babysitter, anyway.” 

Laughter wells up around him, but he remains quiet and grim, staring Reyes down with a look on his face as serious as he’s ever been. Reyes breaks eye contact with Jesse to silence them with a glare, and then brings the meeting to a close as quickly as it had begun. Jesse feels a slight sense of surprise. There had been no further arguments from anyone on the matter, so had he won? It seems to be the case.

His teammates begin to disperse to their respective niches in the headquarters—the lot of them are relentless workaholics; they won’t want to waste time sleeping when they’re already up and about.

As riled as he is, Jesse feels something like a thrill of victory. He’d learned the hard way that some battles aren’t worth fighting back when he and his gang were still together. There was just no arguing with the boss when you were smallfry like Jesse, even if you were as talented a shot. Overwatch is barely any different.

He remembers all too well what it was like to be thrust into what was essentially the army. The Deadlock Gang had been a well-oiled, disciplined group, with honor codes he had learned quickly and learned well. Even with all that, though, it still was nowhere near as strict as Overwatch. He doesn’t like all the rules and regulations that he was expected to follow right out of the goddamn gate. 

Even worse, it’s not like he has too many people to vent to about his forced employment. All his old friends were packed off to jail before he could so much as say goodbye, and Reyes is quite frankly two-faced depending on who’s nearby, so he’s right out as a confidant. Not to mention, he’s the reason Jesse is in that goddamn situation to start with!

Curse Reyes and his soft, unreliable heart. He can claim his motives are altruistic as much as he wants, but here he is, practically kidnapping _another_ teen.

And now, this kid, even younger than he’d been and likely traumatized from a criminal life in an irradiated, apocalyptic hellscape, is going to have to go through it too. It doesn’t matter that he’s a stranger—it‘s almost unheard of for Jesse to stick his neck out even for one of his own— it’s the fact that he’s going to be used, just like Jesse is being, and it sets his blood boiling. 

He clenches his fists, hard enough to cause the leather of his gloves to creak. _Hmph_. Not if he has anything to say about it.

He won’t wait for permission. That isn’t his style, anyway. The soonest chance he gets, he’s going to sneak into quarantine and meet Blackwatch’s newest member, and there isn’t a single rule that can stop him now.


	2. Chapter 2

While trying to get into quarantine might be hard, infiltrating the medical bay is relatively easy. Jesse is, after all, on personal speaking terms with Dr. Angela Ziegler—a prodigy in her own right, and the most prominent health expert in Overwatch, if not the world. He just has to walk with purpose, and no one questions him. A life of crime was what forced him into Overwatch, sure, but it also taught him some valuable tricks.

So sure enough, he strolls into the infirmary, strutting like he’s got some place to be and fast. Some of the people in the waiting area give him a few stray glances, but the receptionist—a young brunette he’s flirted with on a number of occasions—doesn’t stop him. He walks through the double doors, and glances at the arrows on the walls. Quarantine seems to be located near the back, so that’s where he heads. As he traverses door-lined corridors, none of interns or other medical professionals who see him try to halt his progress. He just barely manages to keep a smug grin from breaching his poker-face. After that, it’s just a matter of following the signs.

Unfortunately, as the writing on the walls begins to indicate a close proximity to his destination of choice, he comes face-to-face with Albert Camory, Dr. Ziegler’s intern. With a friendly but firm smile, the blond greets him. “Good afternoon, McCree. Would you happen to be looking for Angela?” 

Jesse, of course, acquiesces to the nurse’s gentle prodding. “Yeah. Mind as to pointing me in her direction?”

With a cheery disposition, the aid redirects him, pointing him back the way he came. “You’ll want to head over to the Orthopedics sector. She’s setting a broken bone for Jacobs at the moment.”

Jesse thanks Camory, and leisurely follows that route for a while until he’s sure that he’s not being tailed. He quickly doubles back, and upon seeing the absence of anyone else who can stop him, makes his way into the more secluded area of the hospital.

This particular section isn’t used as often as the rest of the wards in Gibraltar's med bay. There hadn’t been any cases of world-threatening illnesses or chemical contamination after the recurrence of an old but deadly virus five years or so ago, and quarantine had been mostly empty since then. He stops by the doors that have folders hanging in neat clear bins on the walls, and peruses them to see if he can locate the Australian. What was his name again?

He passes several containment rooms, not finding what he’s looking for until he nears the very last hallway. There, on the wall, is a file bearing the name “Fawkes, Jamison G.” _Jackpot._

He approaches the door and stops to listen for a brief moment. He can’t hear any activity, so the kid might be out cold. Still, it can’t hurt to see what he’ll be working with here. The kid was going to be his protégé, after all! He wraps his hand around the metal handle and pulls, but the door refuses to budge, seemingly locked from the outside. He glances down the empty hallway before pulling out a small set of lockpicks ( _never leave home without ‘em_ ) tucked inside a pouch dangling underneath his sarape. It takes some quick finagling, but he finally unlocks it with a click and steps inside, allowing the door to shut quietly behind him.

All he registers is an empty, disheveled bed before someone tackles him from behind with a screech.

He finds himself on the ground, someone—goddamnit, it’s the kid, ain’t it—straddling his back and pressing an unidentifiable sharp object to his neck. The Australian starts cackling like a banshee, Jesus Christ, but the titters soon taper off as he leans down next to Jesse’s ear and finally speaks in a high, squawky voice.

“Y’idiot. You drongos are all the same, y’wouldn’t last a day where I come from,” Fawkes practically crows, digging the object a little further into Jesse’s skin. His breath is foul, and the gunslinger struggles not to retch in response to the odor exhaled directly next to his face. Mind racing, Jesse quickly registers two things at once: the boy is surprisingly light, given that it felt like he was attacked by someone at least an inch or two taller than himself; not only that, but the only points of contact are on his waist, where the Junker is sitting, and on his neck with the sharp implement. He comes to a decision.

With all his strength—a considerable amount, he’d like to believe—he bucks up like a rodeo horse, spilling the boy off his back. A loud yelp comes from the dismounted belligerent, and he hears cursing and floundering behind him before he turns around to put his boot on the chest of—

 _Well, I’ll be damned,_ Jesse thinks, _I was ambushed by a malnourished cripple. I must be losing my edge!_

His right arm and leg are both severed, the former below the elbow and the latter above the knee. They’re well-bandaged, but all the fighting and hobbling must have restarted the bleeding, because red is showing through the cloth, and he knows that Angela would’ve changed the dressing by now had she known. His body is almost rail-thin, nothing but skin, bones, and hard _muscle_. He’s got a goddamn six-pack, for chrissake.

The boy struggling underfoot interrupts his line of thought by slashing at his boot with his chosen weapon, which appears to be a fragmented piece of sheetrock—a quick glance at the wall shows the point of impact where the kid must have punched through the thinner material—but Jesse merely kicks it out of his hand, pins down the arm with his other foot, and like that, he’s rendered Fawkes completely helpless.

The kid knows it, too. He starts cursing up a storm, attempting to intimidate his way out, but only seeming more pathetic the more he tries. “Lemme up, I swear I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch! Y’ain’t shit! If ya think you can fuck with me, mate, ya got another thing coming!”

 _Well then, it’s time for some soothing words from McCree_. He’s had to tangle with his fair share of mustangs out west, and he figures he can probably deal with this skinny colt of a kid. “Easy there, hellraiser. I ain’t out for your blood. I just came to have a look at the new recruit.”

Jamison blinks, then sneers. “I ain’t some animal for you to gawk at, so do me a favor, mate, and cark it.”

“Now c’mon, you know that’s not what I meant.” When the boy remains unimpressed, going as far as to gesture obscenely with his one working arm, Jesse sighs. He knew Reyes said that the kid was feral, but he hadn’t anticipated this level of childish antagonism. “Look, bucko, you want my help or not?”

Fawkes eyes him warily. “You ain’t having a lend of me, ya galah. None of you lot gonna do jack shit for me.”

The Australian’s speech patterns are near incomprehensible, and Jesse begins to wonder if they might be having communication issues. He tries again. “No, dead serious. I might be the one guy in this whole set-up who knows what you’re going through.”

At that, the Junker lets out a harsh, croaky laugh. “You have _no idea_ ,” he whispers, voice hoarse and eyes averted, “what it’s been like for me.” He turns his head away from the man above him, chest shaking with quiet, hysterical giggles.

“Regardless, far’s you're concerned, I'm here to help, and so is Overwatch,” he reasons. “They may have dragged me in kicking and screaming, but they didn’t cut off any of me to do it.” He pauses for a moment before muttering, “Well, now, at least I don’t reckon we did that to you,” nodding his head at Fawkes’ two amputated limbs.

The kids glances back at him, seeming to weigh the options of responding versus remaining quiet. His gazes shifts away, and then back. All of a sudden, talking wins the battle. “No, mate, but I've got a _hell_ of a story,” he says, eyes taking up a sudden gleam.

Jesse smiles and steps off the boy’s chest, extending his arm. “I’d love to hear it, pal.” Fawkes flinches away from the proffered hand at first, but with no further movements from the cowboy, he grasps it with surprising strength and hauls himself off the ground. He lets go just as quickly, hopping on one leg to seat himself at the edge of his bed and patting the spot next to him. Jesse decides not to think better of it, and sits a polite distance away from the Junker.

Fawkes sticks out a dirty, knobbly hand to Jesse, suddenly and with considerable excitement. “M’name’s Junkrat.”

He blinks, a little in disbelief at the odd moniker, but figures it best not to comment. Still grinning, the gunslinger grips it firmly, shaking his hand. “The name’s McCree. Pleased to make your acquaintance, pardner.”

“Doctor Angela Ziegler,” says a cheery, German-accented voice from the door.

Both men jump, Junkrat falling flat on his back in surprise. Jesse turns to see none other than the good doctor herself staring bemusedly at the two of them. Pursing her lips, she places her hands on her hips and admonishes, “I don’t believe Mr. Fawkes was scheduled to have visiting hours today, Jesse.”

Jesse tries to shrug off the guilt. “Well, I just figured I’d swing on by. Bit of free time, wanted to meet the new recruit. You know how it goes.”

Dr. Ziegler lets out a small, exasperated sigh, before abruptly turning to the kid. “Mr. Fawkes, it’s time for your new friend to leave. Say goodbye.”

Junkrat looks surprised, so much that he makes the effort to sit up. “Wha? I just met the guy, and now you’re gonna take ‘im away. S’no fair!” he whinges.

Unfortunately, the doctor’s well-manicured hand reaches out and grabs Jesse by the sarape. Jesse knows that it’s not worth it to put up much of a struggle, so as he’s pulled out backwards, he gives an awkward, “See ya, kid.” 

“Wait—” Junkrat cries and reaches a hand out, but by then Jesse’s completely out of the room, and Dr. Ziegler shuts the door. She only lets go of him to turn around and stare disapprovingly at him.

After a few moments of pause, she finally speaks. “Jesse, did you know that you have the tendency to be a little reckless every now and then?”

Jesse can’t help but chuckle. “Really? I had no clue.” When Dr. Ziegler just gives him an unimpressed look, he decides to just be straightforward. “What’s the problem, Doc? I was making good progress!”

She snorts. “If by making good progress you mean almost getting your throat slit, then yes.” She reaches out a hand to tilt his chin up so she can study his neck. She lightly traces across the skin, and Jesse can imagine that there’s a thin red line there from the pressure of the makeshift weapon.

“Takes more than that to put Jesse McCree outta action, Angela,” he says reassuringly, and he reaches out to place his own hand on her shoulder.

Dr. Ziegler sighs. “Mr. Fawkes hasn’t been acclimated to his new living situation yet. He’s in an entirely new environment, surrounded by strangers whose intentions he doesn’t know. He’s feral, Jesse, and he could have killed you. What _wouldn’t_ kill you is being cautious and using some good sense!”

Jesse rolls his eyes. “I got that in spades, Doc. How _else_ would I still be alive?”

Immediately, she replies, “Dumb luck.”

The cowboy can’t help but laugh at that. “And people like you watching out for me.” The two smile at each other for a minute before Jesse changes tack. “But I _can_ take care of m’self.”

The blonde just gives a small huff. “Who knows what could’ve happened if I hadn’t come? It was lucky that Albert spotted you and came to tell me you were here.”

Jesse grimaced. “Yeah, I figured he’d talk.” Angela tsks at him, and he raises his hands defensively. “Some wise fella once said it was easier to ask for permission than forgiveness!”

Dr. Ziegler shakes her head dismissively. “Yeah, a real wise guy.” Jesse intends to shoot back his own sassy comeback when she raises a hand to interrupt him. “I like you Jesse, but this is _my_ infirmary. I’m going to have to order you to not come back without my permission, for your own safety.”

“Aw, Angie—”

“Don’t ‘aw, Angie’ me, Jesse,” she snaps, adjusting her glasses. She takes a deep breath in and looks at him imploringly. “Just please do what I say. We can talk about this later.”

Jesse lets out a sigh. He can’t say no to Dr. Ziegler when she looks at him like that. “Fine. But we _will_ be talking ‘bout this.”

Angela nods. “I’m confident that we will be able to work something out if you behave.”

“When do I ever not behave?” Jesse asks innocently, and ducks as Angela throws the pen in her pocket at him.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s not long before he realizes that it’ll take a lot of solid negotiating with Dr. Ziegler in order for him to be come see Junkrat every once and awhile. He knows that it’ll be imperative to gain the kid’s trust in order not to get gutted the next time he strolls into his room. The kid’s got spirit, but Jesse is interested in keeping his own inside his body. Therefore, he needs Dr. Ziegler to give him the permission he seeks.

It doesn’t take long for Jesse to bring her up to speed on the mentoring situation. Now that she knows he’s not just visiting Fawkes to stare at him like a zoo animal, her stance has changed. Unfortunately, it only changes a little.

Jesse crosses his arms and tries not to sound too pedantic. “Listen, Angela, this kid is going to be my responsibility, right? I have to get to know him as soon as possible.”

Dr. Ziegler purses her lips. “He has not fully recovered yet. Besides, it will be better to introduce him to new people slowly. We wouldn’t want to give him culture shock before he’s ready for it.”

“Look, Doc,” he drawls, trying hard not to roll his eyes at her, “I think culture shock’s going to be inevitable. Hell, I’m walking, talking culture shock. I doubt the kid has _ever_ seen a cowboy before.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m questioning Gabriel’s judgement to have you mentor him.” Just as Jesse opens his mouth to argue, she puts a hand up to silence him. “I know you’re smart, and I know that when something piques your interest, you care intensely about it. Unfortunately, you haven’t handled responsibility roles all that well in the past.”

Jesse huffs. “I’m not the same rowdy kid they wrangled in here a few years back. I’ve _grown_ , Angela, and I’m ready to take this on. Let me prove it to you,” he all but begs.

“Hmm.” Dr. Ziegler pauses to look Jesse over and consider his proposal. Jesse knows he’s a bit too old for puppy eyes, but he’ll sink low enough to do it, since it might work on her. Eventually, she sighs, and her posture loosens. “If you can manage to juggle all your usual tasks efficiently and with care, I will allow you a brief period of time per day to visit with Mr. Fawkes.”

It takes all of Jesse’s self control to not start whooping and punching the air. Instead, he settles for a respectful nod. “Thank y’kindly, Angie. I won’t letcha down, I promise!”

Dr. Ziegler gives him a warm smile. “You’re welcome, Jesse. I think that this will be a good experience for you.”

It’s enough of a victory for him to not care about Ziegler’s slightly patronizing tone. He’s ready to begin his newest role in Overwatch, and for once, he’s _eager_ about it.

——

The second time he goes to see the Australian goes slightly better than the first, the major improvement being that this time, Junkrat doesn’t try to slit his throat. Jesse waits outside while the doctor bustles in with a clipboard, checking things off as she speaks airily to the boy inside. “Good afternoon, Mr. Fawkes. You have a visitor today!”

The boy scoffs. “Is that roight? What do those jumped up, no-hoper bosses of yours want now?” Junkrat sounds wary, which doesn’t surprise Jesse all that much. He wonders if that means he’s met with Reyes yet. _It would be enough to put anyone off._

Dr. Ziegler’s cheerful laughter bubbles from inside the room. He can just imagine the caring expression on her face. “No, no, it’s a friend of yours! Jesse, you can come in.”

_That’s my cue._ Jesse steps inside, doffing his hat. “Howdy, kid. How’re you doin’ today?”

Junkrat stares at him for close to a solid minute before his eyes flicker back to Dr. Ziegler. He lets out a weak chuckle. “You’ve gotta be messin’ with me, sheila, cuz’ I’ve never seen this bloke before in my life.”

Jesse frowns briefly—he knows that he’s good at making first impressions based off attire alone—before putting a charming smile back on. “What, you don’t remember this handsome face? You tried to kill me the other day when I came to meet you, pardner.”

At this, the boy scoots a little farther back, looking a bit shifty. “Don’t flatter yourself, mate, I get that a lot.” He pauses for a moment, nervous laughter trickling out of him. “No hard feelings, though, right?” He quickly looks to Dr. Ziegler for help, as though sure Jesse is about to pummel him senseless.

She smiles reassuringly at the anxious boy. “Don’t worry, Jamison; Jesse isn’t here to harm you. He was in fact here to visit you a day or so ago, and after your initial quarrel, the two of you seemed to get along swimmingly.”

Turning to Jesse, she places a hand on his shoulder. Quietly, she murmurs, “He has issues with his short term memory, so be patient. Give him a little time; it took him about three days before he started remembering me!” After giving Jesse a quick pat, she turns back to Junkrat. “I’ll be outside the room if you need me.”

After Dr. Ziegler leaves the room, there are a few moments of awkward silence between the two men. When Jesse takes a step forward, Junkrat flinches back. The cowboy puts his hands up, hoping it will put the junker at ease. “Easy, there. I ain’t gonna hurt you none. I came to see you the other day because we’re gonna be working together once you heal up, so I was interested to see what you were like. That’s all there is to it, kiddo.”

Somewhat listlessly, Junkrat raises his remaining hand and gestures to himself. “Well, you’ve seen me, then. Heh, _truly_ impressive, I know.”

Jesse shrugs. “Ain’tcher fault you’re skinnier than a beanpole, and tall as one to boot.” He can’t keep from smirking a little. “You’re ninety percent limb, and that’s saying something, all things considered.”

Junkrat scowls and sulks. “Ha ha, bloody ha. Go on and have a few more prods at the poor crippo, ya larrikin.”

_That reminds me._ Jesse nods toward the kid. “Speaking of which, you were gonna tell me what happened, there.”

Junkrat puts his hand to his chest, eyes widening in mock outrage. “Now hold on a second there, mate! It’s not a tale I tell just _any_ old bloke.” It doesn’t take long for his façade to crack, however, and he simpers at the cowboy. “At least buy me dinner first!”

Jesse has to laugh. “Yeah, I reckon anything’d be better than hospital food. They feedin’ you gruel down here, kid?”

The Australian snorts. “If you mean that pale, sloppy _pisswater_ they’ve been givin’ me for brekkie, then yeah. Hell, even bush tucker’s better!” After a brief moment of thought, he looks back at Jesse, this time with renewed interest. “You think you can smuggle me in some better grub, yeah?”

The older man considers the proposition, and nods with a smile. “I could. Anything else you need, kid?”

At that, Junkrat begins nodding rapidly. “Yeah, do me a solid and get me some right proper clothes, mate. I’m freezin’ my arse off in this bareback fuckin’ dress. I swear, I never been so cold in me whole _life_!”

Jesse chuckles. “Well, that’s somethin’ I can solve right now.” He works his jacket off from under his sarape—an old leathery thing he’s been wearing for a few years now—and tosses it onto the bed.

Fawkes stares at it like it’s priceless before glancing suspiciously at Jesse. “What’s the catch here, mate?”

The brown-haired man shakes his head and benevolently says, “No catch. S’all yours, pardner,” 

At that, Junkrat lets out a cackle and snatches it up, pulling it over his shoulders and huddling into it. His eyes are shining a little when he looks back at the cowboy. “Thanks, cobber! You’re—you’re a good bloke, I can tell.”

Jesse readily returns his smile. _The kid’s practically starvin’ for positive human contact, ain’t he?_ He’d feel pity for the kid if he hadn’t been in the same situation, once upon a time.

There’s a quick knocking on the door, which Jesse takes to mean that his time is up. He winks at the boy and begins to walk backwards toward the door. “You can keep it, too. Little somethin’ to remember me by the next time I show up.”

Junkrat huffs and crosses an arm over his stump, looking away. “Yeah. I guess we’ll see about _that_ , won’t we?”

——

It turns out that he does remember him after all.

The next time he comes to visit, he arrives bearing a bag full of contraband snacks. He wisely does so without telling Dr. Ziegler, knowing she’d confiscate all of it. He knocks on the door, and the sight of the kid—in the brown leather jacket, god bless him—looking fit to explode from excitement makes him smile. “You’re the bloke what promised me the good shit?”

“I’m your huckleberry.”

He saunters forward and lets the sack spill open onto the bed, an assortment of chips, soft drinks, sweets, and junk food cascading over the Australian’s leg and a half. The poor kid looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm, or at least pass out from sheer glee. Is that drool? “You’re a goddamn saint, you beautiful bastard!”

It takes him a substantial amount of time to figure out what he wants to try first. When he finally choses, he picks up the hamburger, still in its wrapping, and stares at it like a kid would hold a package on Christmas. “What’s this, then?”

“Open it up and see,” McCree says with a smile.

Junkrat all but tears off the paper, and upon seeing the steaming, aromatic sandwich, his expression becomes full of hesitance and reverence. “What...?” he asks, voice soft.

“It’s called a hamburger. This one’s got two beef patties, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and a few packet’s a’ ketchup and mustard. You can spread ‘em on, if you want—” His words are wasted, as Junkrat’s already tearing into the burger like a man who hasn’t eaten in years. He polishes it off in a little over two bites, licking his fingers, and squirts a packet of mustard in to finish off his mouthful. Jesse can’t decide if he feels nauseous or impressed.

Despite his own reservations, he grins encouragingly. “Try the ketchup with the fries.”

This goes on for a while. The cowboy’s convinced the kid’s stomach is a black hole; how is he not getting sick? His favorite food seems to be the burger, with potato chips coming in second. When he tastes one of the candy bars, he actually starts to tear up. “What the bloody fuckin hell is _this_?”

“ S’chocolate.”

“It’s _heaven_ , more like it!”

He finishes up by pouring a few of the sodas into the pitcher by his bead and downing the unholy brown froth inside. He smacks his lips, seemingly satisfied, before frowning. “Oi, this stuff is _weak_. There ain’t no kick at all!”

Jesse snorts. “There ain’t any alcohol in it to be givin’ it a kick.”

His eyes widen, and there’s a betrayed look on his face. “Aww, come on, you promised me the good shit!” Junkrat whines.

He shakes his head adamantly. “Nuh-uh, I ain’t getting a _fourteen year-old_ drunk.”

“The hell’s my _age_ got to do with it?”

Now Jesse laughs. “In this country, you gotta be eighteen to drink.”

Junkrat goes pale. “You gotta be shitting me, mate.”

When he shakes his head again, the kid lets out one of the meanest cursing streaks Jesse’s ever heard from a teen. Chuckling slightly, Jesse asks, “Whoa, now, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Junkrat ignores his comment, instead reaching out to grab Jesse by the sarape. “You gotta help me out, here! I’m gonna go nuts without some grog!” There’s honest-to-goodness fear in his eyes. “C’mon, mate, I’ll do anything! Anything you want!”

Gently, but firmly, Jesse pries the lone (now greasy) hand off of him. “I don’t want anything you have to offer, kid.” He’s actually a little perturbed by the Junker’s desperation.

He scowls, hunching into himself. “Some help you are, ya cunt.”

Jesse rolls his eyes. “Sure am, pardner. Now come on, we oughta hide the rest of this stuff where the doctor won’t find it.”

The thought of losing his precious leftovers jolts Junkrat out of his sulking and into action. It takes a few minutes, but they eventually just settle for stuffing it under the bed. The cowboy gives the Australian a napkin to wipe himself off with—he has to explain what it’s for, however—and sweeps the crumbs off the bed to hide the rest of the evidence.

Finally, he sits back down on the bed. “So, now that I’ve fed you, you gonna tell me your story?”

However, it appears that Junkrat’s still upset with the lack of alcohol presented to him, because he mutters, “Piss off, you clucky old shit.”

Jesse wants to fire back a sharp retort at the kid, but he reminds himself that it’ll be easier to build a relationship with Junkrat if he’s respectful of his charge’s wishes. Decision made, he shrugs and stands, heading toward the door. “Whatever you say, kid.”

_In the end_ , he supposes, _it’s_ his _decision when to open up. Better not to rush him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, while I have the plot for this mostly fleshed out, I'm interested in adding some filler chapters, so if there's any escapades you want to see, put a request in the comments and I'll see if I can work it in ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Junkrat eyeballs the holoscreen on the wall with a mixture of interest and skepticism. “So you’re tellin’ me that starin’ at a flat surface for hours on end is _fun_? M’not sure I believe that.”

“Don’t you worry,” Jesse says with a knowing smile. “You’ll find it’s more entertaining than it sounds.”

He’s recently decided to bring Junkrat up to date with modern media, since the only technology the kid has ever seen were cobbled-together weapons and old, broken TVs and the like in the scrapyards. Electricity was too valuable in the Outback, from what Jesse understood, to be spent on gazing at a screen for extended periods of time. Reading for leisure was much more common, but even then, it was still a rare and esoteric hobby. Apparently, literacy is a dying art in the Outback.

“My oldies probably taught me how to read and write sometime before they disappeared. Can’t really remember when,” he mentions offhandedly at one point, and the casual way he says it just feels _wrong_ , Jesse isn’t going to lie. He himself ended up on his own as a kid, and the hurt has long since passed, but he remembers the grief of losing his parents. Still, he can sympathize with Junkrat’s harsh upbringing, even if it was far from the same degree.

“So, from what I hear, little man—”

“Who you callin’ little?” The Australian immediately snaps back, looking disgruntled. Jesse can’t help but smile. For a fourteen year-old, Junkrat is abnormally tall, but he still seems very insecure about his height.

“ _I hear_ that you’re a demolitionist.” Upon seeing the kid’s blank look, he clarifies, “A guy who blows up buildings and such.”

Junkrat begins nodding eagerly, eyes shining. “People too, if they think they wanna scrap with me!” His giggling is loud in the small room.

“Right. Well, this here’s a remake of an older movie called _V for Vendetta_ , and it’s about a guy in a mask who’s trying to explode Parliament, the big government building over in Britain—if you’ve heard of the place.”

“Nah,” Junkrat says, shifting in his bed to lean back and putting his good arm behind his head. “But it’s not like I’ve bloody well got anything else to do.”

——

For the next week and a half, Junkrat does not shut up about _V for Vendetta_. It’s made such an impression on the kid that he’s taken to quoting the anarchist in regular conversation. He’s spent a considerable amount of time rewatching it, apparently.

“No, mate, I gotta memorize this one! ‘Remember, remember…’ how the hell does it go, again?”

Jesse often walks in on him absentmindedly humming the 1812 overture, cannonfire and all. He begins asking for paper and pens, and spends time drawing up plans for different devices, the nature of which Jesse has deep suspicions. When he isn’t busy being off in his own world, he’s like a rocket; he fidgets, he’s louder than normal, and he’s even more restless than before. He isn’t sure if he’s made the best decision in movie choices, but hey, at least the kid’s excited about something.

To get Junkrat’s mind off it, he exposes him to other movies and TV shows. He takes to most of them quickly, but vehemently refuses to watch anything with omnics in ‘em, though. “Fuckin’ scrapheaps,” he mutters, tone venomous, any time Jesse tries. It’s a shame; one of his favorite television shows has a bunch of omnic actors in them. _Well,_ The Chrome Gun _isn’t for everyone_ , he supposes.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for his superiors (read: Reyes) to realize how much work he’s skipping to hang out with the new recruit. After receiving a firm talking-to—most of which he tunes out—he receives an astonishing two week-long assignment in the midwestern United States. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says. “What on Earth could be damned important enough back there? It’s not like my old gang’s around anymore.”

“Maybe not _your_ gang, but in their absence, there have been new groups of _bandidos_ trying to assume their spot. It’s not smart to have anyone becoming too dangerous. We need you to go back there and do some reconnaissance. I’m sure you’ve still got old contacts.”

“I mean, sure, I probably do, but even _you_ can’t deny that I’m doing important work here, Reyes!” He’s trying his damnedest to not sound like a whiny brat.

The lieutenant commander rolls his eyes. “Watching movies with another recruit hardly counts as important. For once, Jesse, there’s no one better than you for the job.”

Jesse resents that remark, but arguing doesn’t get him any further. He’s got just enough time before being deployed to go deliver the bad news to Junkrat. He’s busy watching an Omnic Crisis-era movie that was clearly made for propaganda purposes. He boos loudly at the appearance of an omnic, and then cackles gleefully as it’s blown to pieces. Jesse clears his throat loudly, at which point the kid turns to see him, grin growing even wider.

“Oi, McCree! Good timing, cobber, you oughta watch this thing with me.” He pats the spot on the bed where the cowboy normally sits during his visits.

Jesse shakes his head. “Sorry, pal, but I can’t. It, uh… it turns out I gotta be leaving for a while.”

Junkrat just stares at him for a minute before snorting and rolling his eyes. “Not funny, mate. You ain’t got nothing better to do any more’n me!”

Jesse scowls, but makes an effort to change his look to something more apologetic. “I _do_ have a job, you know. They’re sending me out to the United States for two weeks.”

“Wait, what? You’re actually _leaving_?” The kid seems to realize that Jesse’s being serious, and is starting to panic. His hand begin to fidget restlessly with the edge of his blanket.

“I’ll be back before you know it, I promise.”

“ _No_!” Junkrat suddenly scrambles out from under his covers, wiggling his way across the bed to get closer to Jesse. “You can’t just suddenly be _flat out_ , mate. I’m not about to let you give me the flick like that!” He reaches out to try and grab the cowboy with his good arm, but Jesse is just out of his reach. “At least take me with you!”

“I’m sorry, kid. It’s not really like I ever had a choice in all this.”

Junkrat falls silent, then slumps down, all the energy seemingly vanishing. “You too, huh?”

Now it’s Jesse’s turn to be shocked. “Now, hold on a minute. You’re telling me that they _dragged_ you into this?”

“I didn’t exactly walk here, mate!” Junkrat yells, waving his stumps at Jesse. “If you were me, and some random wankers were fucking _torturing_ you for information, and suddenly fucking Overwatch descended from the goddamn heavens and offered you a way out of Oz, you’d agree to any of their shitty terms!”

Jess glances at the amputated limbs, then averts his eyes. “What did they _want_ from you? You’re _fourteen_ , for chrissakes!”

Junkrat scowls. “The same thing that Overwatch did. It’s not like they cared about me, or my bloody _age_ , they just wanted my treasure. That’s all anyone ever cares about! And apparently, _you_ don’t give a rat’s arse about me either, so _rack off_!” His tone suddenly climbs in pitch to a shriek, and he punctuates it by throwing the remote for the holoscreen at him. It strikes his shoulder and clatters to the floor, but Jesse stands unmoved.

_Treasure? What the hell does that mean?_ It’s clearly important, but now’s not the right time to ask, given the way Junkrat’s behaving. “Kid—”

“Don’t you come the raw prawn with me! Just leave me alone.” Junkrat turns away from Jesse, breathing hard.

Jesse sighs. He’s not going to win this battle either, is he? He glances at the Junker one last time, giving a resigned, “See ya,” before heading out the door.

——

Jesse never imagined he’d be going back to his little hometown on Route 66. Or at least, he imagined that if he did, that there would be more pomp and circumstance; instead, the dropship quietly descends to the edge of town. With no more flair than the dramatic flapping of his sarape in the wind stirred up by the turbines, Jesse walks back into a living memory.

The town looks exactly the same as he left it. The colors of the buildings are faded from years worth of dust storms, and the descendents of the tumbleweeds of his time scurry across the streets. Darkened figures linger under porches to escape the desert heat and watch quietly, cautiously.

One of the only things that’s different is the lack of horses in the streets. Instead, he sees a number of motorcycles pulled up in the spots where the animals were once tethered. Evidently, the town was seeing a change in passersby. Jesse assumes that it has to do with the absence of his gang; with them gone, town must have become substantially safer to pass through.

Everything is quiet and peaceful. Jesse can’t imagine that there’s been any trouble in this town at all. At least, that’s until there’s a commotion from the bar across the square.

Jesse’s familiar with that particular bar: the ancient barkeep Rodriguez had been very kind to a much younger Jesse. The thought of something bad going down there makes his very blood boil, and he impulsively strolls toward the entrance of the building.

As Jesse dramatically pushes his way inside with a slam of the saloon doors, the clammering inside goes quiet. His eyes adjust quickly to the darkness, and he makes out several figures before him; the barkeep—bless his soul, he _is_ alive—is sprawled on the floor, and four tall men standing over him imposingly. There’s shattered glass on the floor, and Jesse’s eyes are drawn to the blood leaking down Rodriguez’s temple.

As he looks down at his old friend, the barkeep stares back up, and Jesse sees confusion fade away to disbelief. “...Jesse? Jesse McCree, that you?” At that, there are a few hushed murmurs from the patrons of the bar.

“In the flesh,” Jesse smirks and gives a tip of his hat to Rodriguez. “Now,” he says, turning to the gang members who’d been in the process of intimidating him, “you fellas got some sort of problem?”

They turn away from Rodriguez, and now Jesse has their full attention. “This ain’t none of your business, outsider,” the biggest of them snarls, “so mind your goddamn business.”

“Outsider?” Jesse chortles disbelievingly, but inside, his heart is pounding with a mixture of anxiety and the thrill of impending conflict. “I’m gone for a few years and suddenly everyone forgets good ol’ Jesse Six-Shots? What on God’s green earth happened to my town?”

The mutters increase in loudness, and the gangsters are taking note now. One of them shifts uneasily. “This ain’t your town. It belongs to the Red Canyon Rogues now.”

Jesse snorts. “Cute. But you can’t just come into Deadlock territory and take what you want.” He’s bluffing at this point, but his confidence makes up for it.

He sees the _banditos_ recoil a little, but they quickly regain their nerve. The leader speaks again, “Deadlock’s been busted for years. This ain’t their—this ain’t _your_ territory no more, and we Rogues’ll kill anyone who says otherwise.” Emboldened, all three of them raise their weapons.

_Oh yeah? We’ll see about that._

There’s a moment of silence that permeates the bar; the atmosphere is thick with tension, like the intense heat before an impending storm. Then, faster than a bullet, Jesse whips his Peacemaker out from his holster and fans the hammer, firing two lightning-fast shots into each of three gangsters.

There’s another beat of silence before they all fall dead to the ground, and the one remaining bandit looks down at his fallen comrades in shock, before slowly turning to and staring at Jesse in horror.

Jesse raises an eyebrow at the man. “Go on to your boss and tell ‘im that this town ain’t his, and that the Deadlocks are back. Now,” Jesse reloads his gun, steps out of the way of the exit, and drawls, “ _git._ ”

The gangster bolts at his words, and he leaves two swinging doors in his wake. Jesse hears the rumble of a motorcycle not long after, and he finally relaxes his stance. He walks over to the bartender and extends his hand. “It’s good to see ya, Rodriguez.”

The older man grasps his hand gratefully and groans his way up to his feet. “It’s been too long, ain’t it,” he agrees, and stares at Jesse in awe and curiosity. Hesitantly, he asks, “Is it true? Are y’all _really_ back?”

Jesse laughs at that. “Hell naw. My _compadres_ are all still rotting in jail, pardner. But you know how good I am when it comes to bluffin’.”

Rodriguez seems to visibly relax. “I’ve lost enough money to you to know, _amigo_.” He claps Jesse on the back before moving back being the bar, and all of a sudden, the chatter in the room resumes as though a switch had been flipped.

Jesse leans on the bar in comfortable silence as Rodriguez quickly tends to his wound. Thankfully, all the damage seems to be superficial. Once the bartender is done, he asks, “What did they want?”

“What everyone else wants: free drinks, and all the money in this till.” Rodriguez rolls his eyes. “But I was too used to it from years of your gang to be intimidated.” He suddenly changes the subject, as though embarrassed. “Bourbon, I take it?”

“Well, don’t mind if I do.” He takes the proffered glass and gives it a thoughtful sip. “So, these guys new, or they been around for a while?”

“They’ve been hanging around for a year or so, but they’ve only recently begun to be very aggressive. Their boss must have been pushing for them to expand their influence.” At this point, Rodriguez treats himself to a sip of well-deserved hooch.

Jesse nods understandingly. “I may not be with Deadlock anymore, but I’ll be damned if I let this town fall into the wrong hands.”

Rodriguez smiles at him. “You ain’t changed a bit, _amigo_. You still that same cheeky little brat I knew all those years back.”

“Why, thank’n ya kindly.” Jesse grins back at his old friend, and polishes off his drink.

As soon as he puts it down, Rodriguez takes out a bottle refills it for him. “So, then, what brings you back to town?” asks Rodriguez, looking at Jesse with curiosity. “Thought you got thrown in the slammer.”

Jesse laughs. “I got a hell of a story for you my friend, and time to tell it too. But first,” he says, leaning in, “I’m gonna need to call in a favor.”

——

He’s not even a full week into the mission before he gets a call from the Gibraltar base.

He’d just finished haggling with one of Rodriguez’s contacts for information when his earpiece activates. “Hey, _vaquero_ ,” Reyes says, and he can hear grumpiness in his boss’s voice. “It looks like we have to pull you from the mission.”

“What?” Jesse says, not sure he’s hearing Reyes correctly. “I’ve barely gotten started here! What’s the problem?”

“Don’t worry about your work, we’re sending another agent to take your place. Brief them on everything you’ve learned, and then get on the dropship that brought them.”

“Reyes, what’s the damn problem?”

“It seems our young Mr. Fawkes can’t even begin to function as a human being without you around.”

Jesse feels his heart in his throat for a moment. “God, is he alright?”

He can hear the eye-roll in Reyes’ tone when he responds, “It’s not like he’s dying, Jesse. In fact, he’s almost completely healed from his wounds. We need him to be cooperative and start his training, and you seem like the best bet for convincing him to behave for a goddamn minute.”

The cowboy sighs, deeply conflicted. After all, he’s made a lot of positive change in his time here. Still, he thinks of the poor lost kid he’s left behind him, and the metaphoricity of the situation is not lost on him. “Okay, be there as soon as I can.”

And he is. The dropship arrives in less than an hour, and he puts the agent in contact with Rodriguez before leaving his small, dusty town behind.

The second he hits the base, he beelines for Junkrat’s room. He’s intercepted quickly by Dr. Ziegler. “Oh, good, you’re here. We need your help to convince Jamison to put on his new prosthetics.”

Jesse gives her an incredulous look. “That’s what he’s causing so much of a fuss about?”

“Well, that’s what Gabriel wants you to fix. Jamison’s become rather aggressive when we try to push the issue. In general, however, he has been more despondent since you left. He’s exhibiting a lack of appetite, and has been rather lethargic as well.”

“Christ. I had no clue he was _this_ attached to me.”

Angela sighs, then quietly murmurs, “It’s possible that he may have some sort of dependency-related disorder. Unfortunately, psychology was never really my field, so I have no grounds to attempt a diagnosis.”

Jesse rubs his forehead, expression weary. “I see.” He’s not sure how he’s supposed to deal with this, but the information may be useful in helping the kid.

They finally arrive at the door, muffled shouting coming through the wooden barrier. Angela looks worried. “I had some of my technicians go in and try to convince him, but it doesn’t sound like they’re having much success.”

“No kiddin’.”

Jesse swings the door open to the sight of Junkrat gripping a prosthetic leg in his left arm, seemingly with the intent to hit one of the cowering interns with it. The sound of him entering causes the Australian to pause mid-swing, however, and when he sees him standing in the doorway, he drops it to the ground.

The cowboy takes a few steps forward, smiling somewhat awkwardly as the boy continues to stare at him. “Howdy, partner.”

Those wide eyes suddenly brim with tears, and with speed and agility Jesse didn’t know a double amputee could possess, he leaps from the bed and onto Jesse, toppling both of them to the ground. Jesse’s body armor clangs as it hits the floor, causing him to give a slight grunt of discomfort. It doesn’t really matter, though, given that Junkrat has wrapped his good arm around Jesse and is openly sobbing into his shoulder.

“McCree, you beautiful bastard! Dear god, mate, I thought I’d never see you again.”

The ‘beautiful bastard’ in question pushes off the ground with one arm, the other patting Junkrat’s back as comfortingly as he can. “Shhh, it’s okay, kid. I’m here.”

He suddenly looks up, wild-eyed. “You gotta help me, mate! These crazy drongos come in one day, asking me to put my stumps in these tubs of white gunk, and of course I tell ‘em to fuck off, so they bloody knock me out and do it anyway! And today, they come back with these bloody _omnic_ parts. Like hell I’m puttin’ them on!”

The interns attempt to save face. “Mr. Fawkes, those were the molds we needed to take so that your prosthetics would fit—”

“Oh, bugger off.” He scoffs, turning back to Jesse. “All this ‘Mr. Fawkes’ bullshit. Hey, how come you never call me Junkrat? I told you my damn name before, ain’t I?”

Jesse shrugs. “Not gonna lie, feels wrong to call someone a name that makes ‘em sound like garbage. How ‘bout ‘James’, or ‘Jamie’, that work?”

The kid rolls his eyes. “I swear, you lot are fun as a bondi cigar.”

“That’s not a no, is it?”

“ _Holy dooley_ , might as well call me what you like, ya dipstick!”

Angela clears her throat behind them. _Right_. Wrapping his arm around the kid’s waist, he stands up, taking Junkrat with him, who yelps and clings on with his remaining limbs. “Oi, put me down, I’m slipping!”

“See now, Jamie, this wouldn’t be an issue if you put on the prosthetics, now would it?”

“You can bugger off too! M’not wearing ‘em.”

“And besides, the sooner you start using them, the sooner you can start training with me. You’ll be able to get out of this room, see the world!”

Junkrat harrumphs. “Like they’d let me out of here even if I did.”

“Nope, I’m tellin’ the truth. They want to start training you so you can come on missions with me and the rest of the group.”

“Hmph.”

“Not to mention, there’s a new movie comin’ out with lots of explosions. You won’t be able to watch in on a holoscreen for at least a year, and this one’s a real winner.”

“Oh, bloody fine.”

Everyone around them breathes a sigh of relief. It seems there are some fights Jesse _can_ win, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update! Life's gotten a bit more busy lately. But hey, I've got some good news:
> 
> Guess which story is about to become the first part in a three-part series!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for the delay, you have no idea how many iterations this went through. Because of this, I recommend you go back and read through the chapters, since I added something to each one. 
> 
> Starting the week after next, I'm gonna try and update at least every other week. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!

Despite his earlier agreement, Junkrat acts like a bit of a pain once the time finally comes for him to put on his prosthetics.

He looks pleadingly at Jesse, pouting up a storm. “Do I have ta?”

Jesse sighs. “Yes. I swear to God, none of these have ever been part of an omnic. They were made just for you, so you can move like you used to.”

Dr. Ziegler nods, with infinitely more patience than Jesse could hope to have. “Yes, and after a while, you’ll hardly notice they’re there. It’ll be like you never lost them at all!”

Junkrat looks skeptical, but with a grimace and shut eyes, he sticks out his stumps so that Dr. Ziegler can finally outfit him with his custom-made limbs.

First, she makes him open his eyes so that he can learn how to put them on himself. She then slides two thin plastic sleeves over the stumps; each is inlaid with thin metal circuits and a shiny metal base at its end. “You will have to keep these clean, Jamison, do you understand?”

Junkrat huffs and rolls his eyes. “A little dirt never hurt nobody.”

“Would you like to get an infection instead?”

Quickly, Junkrat shakes his head, eyes wide. Jesse laughs and says, “Boy, you sure changed your tune fast.”

The teenager glowers at him. “I don’t bloody well wanna die!”

Dr. Ziegler gives a small chuckle. “Fortunately for you, it is much easier to treat an infection here than it was in your former home. Still, it is better that you keep them clean.”

Junkrat sighs, “I find that hard to believe,” but then gives a terse nod. Next, Dr. Ziegler picks up the prosthetic arm and shows it to him.

“Now, see how the inside of your prosthetic is metal too? It’s magnetic. So when you slide your stump into the arm,” she demonstrates by guiding his arm inside, and then presses a button on the exterior. “It will stay attached until you press the button again.” There’s a brief humming noise, but it stops when Dr. Ziegler presses a second button on the side. Immediately, the limb spasms, and Junkrat jumps like he’s been electrocuted.

“What the fuck?” he yelps. Dr. Ziegler holds him steady, and his shocked expression slowly morphs into one of awe. He extends his arm and flexes the fingers, which move fluidly as he does. “No way,” he all but breathes, and he reaches out to touch Dr. Ziegler’s own arm. “I can feel it.”

Dr. Ziegler lets go of his new-activated prosthetic, and Junkrat touches the palm of his flesh hand with his metal one. He looks enraptured, and he cries out, “I can _feel_ it!” He whoops, and inspects the hand joyously. “How’d you do that?”

“The marvels of modern medicine,” Dr. Ziegler says, with just a hint of smugness. “Now, shall we put on your new leg, too?” Now, there is no hesitation, and there’s a look of mingled eagerness and greed that causes Jesse to chuckle.

The method of putting on the prosthetic is essentially the same for the leg. Dr. Ziegler clicks it into place and turns it on, and this time, Junkrat is ready for it, so there’s only a small twitch as it connects with his neurons. He bends the knee joint, smiling from ear to ear.

All of a sudden, he jumps off the table. As soon as his metal foot touches the floor, it buckles beneath him, and he falls onto the ground with a startled yelp. “What the hell?”

Dr. Ziegler helps him up. “Yes, there’s a bit of a learning curve to using your new prosthetics, Mr. Fawkes, but I’m confident you will master it in no time!”

Junkrat looks disgruntled at his small blunder, and grumbles something along the lines of ‘stupid omnic bullshit.’

——

Dr. Ziegler, of course, was right. It doesn't take very long at all for Junkrat to get used to his new limbs. It becomes almost second nature to him, and he complains a lot less about them as time goes on.

Almost right away, Jesse learns that Junkrat is one hell of a fidgeter. His hands are constantly moving, playing with loose strings on his hospital gown, picking at the nails of his flesh hand, or playing around with whatever odds and ends he can get his hands on.

He shows Jesse how he can build, too. Using small scraps of metal, like paper clips, nuts, and bolts, he comes up with all sorts of little sculptures and prototype models. He makes little replicas of bombs he used to make in the Outback, and Jesse actually learns quite a bit before Dr. Ziegler confiscates all the scrap.

It’s not long after that that Jamie is finally freed from the confines of quarantine. When Junkrat steps outside of the room, he looks close to tearing up—Jesse’s not sure whether it’s from happiness or nerves. With Dr. Ziegler leading the way, they make their way out of the infirmary and they step outside.

Junkrat takes a deep breath in of fresh air, lets out a happy exhale—Jesse realizes that it must be his first time outside since he was brought here—and then cackles with utter jubilance before turning to McCree and saying, “Mate, I thought I’d never be free again.”

“It’s not that bad, being inside.”

“Are you kidding me?” He sounds incredulous. “That might be the longest I ever been inside in me whole life!”

Jesse raises an eyebrow. “No kiddin’.” There must have been a time, back when Junkrat was a kid. Before everything went to shit, he _must_ have had a home.

“Tellin’ the straight truth, cobber. This, the _beautiful_ outdoors, is me natural home.” With that, he plops down on the side of the road and digs his hands into the ground, apparently reveling at the feeling of dirt on his fingertips. “This green stuff is pretty new, though,” he muses, pulling up clumps of grass.

Jesse is skeptical. “Aw, c’mon now, you’re just pulling my leg. Don’t tell me you ain’t never seen grass before!”

Junkrat’s eyes widen, and looks back at the plant matter in his hands. “ _This_ is grass? Back home, it’s all long, stiff an’ yellow!”

Dr. Ziegler chimes in, “Well, the grass here is much better kept than whatever you might find in the Outback, I imagine. It’s well-watered and groomed, so that’s why it’s so soft.”

Junkrat stares at the grass, and looks back up at Dr. Ziegler with something close to anger in his eyes. “Ya just… pour your water on the _ground_?” He stands up suddenly and stalks over to Dr. Ziegler who, with a slight look of panic, seems to be realizing just how tall he is. “People’d get killed for something like that back home.”

The atmosphere is suddenly very tense, and Jesse cautiously puts a hand on Junkrat’s shoulder; he jumps a little, and whirls around to face Jesse. “We don’t have people dyin’ of thirst here, Jamie. Back where I’m from, if there ain’t enough water to go around, people don’t waste it on keepin’ the grass green.”

Junkrat still looks pretty wound-up. He mutters something about idiots and wasting a precious resource, but he’s not looming threateningly over Dr. Ziegler anymore, so Jesse considers the situation defused.

Dr. Ziegler clears her throat, still looking a little ruffled, but strides forward nonetheless. “We still still have plenty to see, Mr. Fawkes. We’d best be moving along.”

——

Fortunately, Junkrat’s mood seems to improve as they continue their tour. He seems to be impressed with how technologically advanced everything is.

“This is a _car_?” he says, looking at the sleek, hovering device. “Ya don’t see too many of these back home, an’ when ya do, they’re all rusted to shit. How the hell did ya get it to float like that?”

He’s endlessly fascinated with everything automatic, as well. He gets a shock when he goes to open a door and it slides aside for him without being touched. Jesse has to laugh at how he looks like he’s short-circuited. He would’ve probably taken it apart to see how it ticked if Jesse hadn’t moved him along.

“It won’t be long before you’re used to all of this,” Dr. Ziegler says with a patient smile.

Junkrat, face still alight with awe, scoffs and says, “We’ll see about that.”

Their walk finally ends when they arrive at the building that houses Blackwatch, in addition to all their training facilities. It’s difficult to get Junkrat in the elevator—as fascinated as he is with it, he seems to be a bit claustrophobic—but eventually they manage it, and when they reach headquarters, Reyes is waiting for them.

“Oh,” Junkrat says, pulling up short with a look of distaste. “It’s you.”

Jesse had suspected that Junkrat had met some of the higher-ups, but he was surprised that Reyes had been one of them. He’d gotten the impression that he hadn’t been very interested in getting to know the kid when he’d expressed his disapproval of how much time Jesse’d been spending with him.

Reyes looks him over, shiny new prosthetics and everything, and doesn’t seem pleased at all with the boy before him. “Yeah, it’s me,” he says, tone gruff, “and it’d do you some good to start addressing me like your commander, which—you know—I _am._ ”

There’s a bit of a snarl appearing on Junkrat’s face, and he seems like he’s about to snap at Reyes; Jesse puts a hand on his shoulder and whispers, “Not worth it to start something, kid.”

Junkrat fumes, but stays quiet. Reyes opens the door for them, and Jesse, Junkrat, and Dr. Ziegler all make their way inside, Reyes following behind.

The room immediately goes quiet as they walk in, and Jesse notices how Junkrat tenses up when suddenly every eye in the room is on him. Just as quick, he relaxes, and a wide, cocky grin appears on the kid’s face; he strolls leisurely behind Reyes with more confidence in himself than Jesse’s ever seen from him.

Jesse and Dr. Zielger stand behind Reyes as he introduces Junkrat to the rest of Blackwatch. “Alright, listen up. Here’s our new recruit, the guy you’ve all been waiting for—” his voice is dripping with sarcasm, “—Jamison Fawkes.”

Junkrat evidently takes this as his cue to step forward. “G’day! And don’t bother with all the ‘Fawkes’ nonsense; call me Junkrat! I’m sure you’re just as thrilled as I am to be here,” and he pauses to give an over-exaggerated wink. “I’m gonna look forward to meeting all you mad cunts.”

There’s some grumbling from the men in the audience, and Jesse resists the urge to place a hand on his shoulder. As it is, Reyes passes in front of Junkrat again. “He’ll be working with Browning, and he’ll be supervised by McCree. Maybe together, they can beat some sense into him.” Ignoring a small, indignant sound from Junkrat, he simply said, “Dismissed,” and turned to head toward his office, leaving the rest of the small group at the front of the room.

Dr. Ziegler turned toward the two men. “Well, Mr. Fawkes, your prosthetics seem to be in fine working order, which means my job is done.” She smiles at Junkrat. “It has been a pleasure getting to know you.” She extends a hand.

Junkrat looks at it for a moment before returning her smile and shaking the proffered hand. “Same to you, sheila. Ta!”

She leaves, and now it’s just Jesse and Junkrat. Essentially everyone’s taken their focus off the two of them, and have dispersed into their own respective offices. The infiltrators are hovering in the back of the room, and it doesn’t escape Jesse’s notice how every now and then, their eyes flicker toward Junkrat.

He finally decides to go through with putting that hand on Junkrat’s shoulder. “Quick note, kid: most folks don’t take it kindly when y’call ‘em cunts. Not the best move to impress them.”

Junkrat turns toward him, an unreadable look in his eyes; Jesse can’t tell if he looks sheepish or anticipatory. “No kiddin, huh?” He turns back to stare at the infiltrators, who look back at him this time, not attempting to disguise their own staring.

Eventually, he shrugs. “M’not afraid of them. I’ve fought worse bogans than that lot.”

Jesse sighs, and lets him go. They’ll deal with whatever comes, if they have to. Jesse won’t let any of them mess with his kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Apparently calling someone a mad cunt is a compliment in Australia
> 
> A large thank you to angstwithtea, froggyflan, and tumblr users cutiepiesableye and dhuutholmel for all beta-ing this monster.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, this got put off a bit so I could write for the NSFW Roadrat Week challenge. Here's your next update!

For a while, nothing bad seems to come of Junkrat's little social misstep. Aside from a few glances in the common rooms or meal hall, nothing bad seems to happen. It doesn't take long for Junkrat to regain his cocky demeanor.

“See, McCree, ain't nothin' wrong,” Junkrat says, mouth open as he wolfs down some bacon. “These blokes, they know a good egg when they see one!”

Jesse shrugs as he idly stabs at the few bits of ham left on his plate. He hasn't really seen any evidence to suggest that the other agents in Blackwatch do anything more than tolerate Junkrat. Jesse's known him for longer than they have, and so he's gotten used to how... well, how loud he is.

“If you say so, kid,” he relents, and places his fork next to his nearly empty plate—worrying about Junkrat isn't gonna keep him from getting a good meal in—before saying, “I'd just watch your back for a bit, if I was you.”

Junkrat laughs, evidently not worried. “Sure, mate,” and Jesse gets the impression that Junkrat's humoring him. Maybe it's because the environment is more civilized, more tame than where he'd come from, so he was letting his guard down. Jesse knew better.

The two men, having finished their food, return their plates to the collection bin—surprisingly, Junkrat was aware of the values of reusing cookware, so Jesse didn’t have to explain it—and exit the mess hall.

“What's your schedule look like today, Jamie?” Jesse inquires. Now that Junkrat's out of the infirmary, Jesse's realized that he won't always know where Junkrat will be at any given time, so he's been hovering a bit like a mother hen.

“Eh, I've got more work with that Browning guy,” Junkrat says.

The chemist and bombmaker were still getting a feel for each other, but Browning had confided in Jesse that he was finding himself becoming, slowly but surely, more amenable toward Junkrat once he realized how bright he was. He wasn't just a whiz with mechanical mines; he'd apparently gotten his start mixing chemicals, and maybe Browning saw a bit of his younger self in Junkrat.

_“Don't tell him I said this, or his ego will get even bigger than it already is,” Browning had said with a chortle._

_Jesse made a zipping motion over his mouth. “My lips are sealed.”_

“How do you like him, then?” Jesse asks of Junkrat.

Junkrat shrugs. “He's alright. It's all a bit boring, ta be honest. He ain't taught me much tha' I don't already know. But it passes the time well enough.”

He scratches his head for a moment, looking like he's trying to remember something. He perks up a second later. “Oh yeah, I think I got ‘combat training' later tonight with that Hawthorne guy. What's that gonna be like? I mean, I'm a pretty scrappy guy, pretty sure I can handle meself in a fight, but I still wanna know.”

Jesse smiles at his confidence. “It'll just be some hand-to-hand techniques, maybe some lessons on dodgin'. You ain't in for anything too difficult yet.” Jesse himself was already out of the combat training regiment, and spent most of his time in advanced simulations. He wasn't a fan of needles, but he put that fear aside for long enough every other day or so for them to inject the serum that would bring him into the simulation. It was incredibly realistic, and sure it left him sore and worn-out, but it was a lot less dangerous than trying to do intense sparring with your comrades. Everyone needed to be in peak condition at all times, so there was no sense in setting them up to beat the shit out of each other.

Junkrat laughs. “Dodgin'? I could do that in me sleep, mate. I spent most a my childhood learnin' that.”

Once again, Jesse feels a little sorry for Junkrat. He knows he wouldn't appreciate that, though, so he keeps it to himself. After all, it's him of all people who should understand what it's like to grow up in such a free-for-all environment.

Eventually, the two arrive at a crossroads. Junkrat's gotta go meet with Browning, and Jesse, surprisingly enough, has a day off. They're very rare, so he's going to make the most of it.

That's right.

He's gonna nap like a motherfucker.

——

When Jesse wakes up—yes, in the break room—it's dark all around him. _Goddamnit_ , Jesse thinks, cursing the kink in his neck. _Overslept again_. Admittedly, he doesn't mind getting the extra sleep, but Junkrat's probably freaking out over where he is. With that thought, he straightens up, and immediately cracks his head into someone's face.

“Ow, fuck!” The cry is uttered by both parties, and once Jesse stops rubbing his forehead, he focuses on who was hovering over him. To his surprise, it's Hawthorne, the friendliest of the infiltrators. As he too recovers from the sudden bump, he focuses on Jesse and crosses his arms. Is it just him, or does Hawthorne look... nervous?

“Good, you're awake. Been saying your name for a while now.”

And then he just pauses, like he doesn't want to spit out what he obviously came here to talk about. Jesse suddenly feels a sense of looming dread, but he's not sure why.

Then, Hawthorne abruptly says, “You need to come with me.” He strides forward, takes Jesse by the arm, and immediately starts walking.

“Hey!” Jesse protests as he's effectively dragged behind the other man. “What's the big idea?”

Without stopping or turning to look at him, Hawthorne drops, “It's your kid, Fawkes.”

That sense of dread returns tenfold, and now Jesse is hurrying to the point where he's alongside Hawthorne. “What's happened to 'im?”

Hawthorne sighs, and then begins to speak, “The other guys weren't so thrilled will how Fawkes spoke to everyone the other day. I wasn't, y'know, personally offended, but I let them come along with me to his training session tonight, and they tried to get him to do one of the advanced training simulations. Get him to, y'know, 'put his money where his mouth is'.”

“Shit,” Jesse groans. “What the fuck were you thinking? There’s no way he’d be ready for an advanced simulation!”

In a high-intensity training session, there’s likely to be multiple combatants, many of them armed with weapons while the participant likely only had their fists. Sometimes there would be conditions working against the trainee, like a grave injury or even increased gravity. It was a hell of a lot to handle, but Overwatch argued that its agents needed to be ready for anything.

“I was outnumbered!” Hawthorne yelled. “And besides—the problem wasn’t the _simulation_.”

Now Jesse is confused. “Then… what was?”

Just then, the two men round the corner and enter the training room to see the other infiltrators—Quill, Lucas, Ling and Capet—clustering around something on the floor. Jesse’s heart drops into his stomach, and he rushes over to push them aside.

With some minor grumbling, the men part to allow him in, and he sees, to his great dismay, that Junkrat is lying on the floor, eyes rolled up into his head, twitching and foaming at the mouth.

“What the fuck,” Jesse says softly, hands hovering above Junkrat but hesitating to disturb him.

Surprisingly, it was quiet Quill who decides to answer. “He must be having an adverse reaction to the serum. Something maybe to do with all the radiation in the Outback?” He speaks with some measure of distaste in his voice, like Junkrat is lesser because he came from Australia.

Jesse’s lip curls. “Why haven’t any of y’all called Angela yet, for cryin’ out loud?”

Now everyone is quiet. Jesse suddenly realizes why, as he watches all the other men look away from the scene on the floor. “Oh,” he spits. “Oh, _I see_. Y’all are a bunch of cowards, too ashamed to ‘fess up to what ya done.” He stands, anger pulsing through his blood. “Well, if y’aint gonna help, then git outta here! I’ll take care of this myself, since none of ya seem to be all that _interested_.”

The others stare resentfully at Jesse, but when Hawthorne gives a quiet, “C’mon, let’s give the kid some space,” the men slowly begin to meander out of the room, trailing behind their leader.

Jesse watches them go, feeling the disgust slowly draining from him. He puts a hand out to rub away the tension from his forehead as he figures out what to do. He’ll have to come up with some kind of story, how Junkrat must have wandered in and—

“Are they gone?”

Jesse freezes at the quiet sound of Junkrat’s voice, and then quickly whirls around to see the kid propped up on his elbows, staring blearily at him as he wipes foamy saliva from the corners of his mouth.

“What in tarnation—Jamison Fawkes, were you faking this whole time?” He feels irritated for being made to worry over nothing, but is also slightly impressed with his acting ability.

Junkrat only looks slightly guilty. “It’s all about survival tactics, mate. I was outnumbered, five to one!” He pauses for a moment before retching, which surprises Jesse. “And ta be honest, I do feel like shit. Whatever they injected into me ain’t doing me any favors right now.”

Jesse crouches back down, helping Junkrat sit up so that he’s leaning against Jesse’s shoulder; Junkrat groans quietly and rests his head onto him.

“It dun always work,” he mumbles, talking still second nature to him even when he doesn’t feel good. “Whoever or whatever’s attackin’ ya has ta be pretty stupid for playing dead ta do its magic. The smart ones might not believe ya, or worse, cut ya up and eat ya.”

Jesse winces. “That’s pretty messed up.”

Junkrat chuckles, staring up at Jesse with bright eyes. “Yeah, well, I got used ta it a long time ago.”

Jesse smiles at Junkrat fondly, but then sighs. “What am I gonna do with you, kid? I told you to stay out of trouble.”

Junkrat’s eyes flick away, and _now_ he looks guilty. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

Jesse ruffles Junkrat’s hair with his hand. “It’s okay. You just gotta be more careful from now on. Don’t go wastin’ that extra chance you been given.”

Junkrat looks at him, a strange expression of determination taking over his face. “I ain’t,” he says, and before Jesse can do anything, he leans in and—

 _Oh Jesus,_ Jesse thinks.

He’s leaned in, and his lips are planted squarely on Jesse’s. His prosthetic hand comes up to cup his cheek so he can lean into it, and when he— _Oh God_ —when he feels a hint of tongue, he puts a hand on Junkrat’s chest and pushes him away.

Jesse’s heart is beating in his ears as Junkrat looks at him, expression confused. “Wha—isn’t that what you wanted?”

“What in the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Now Junkrat looks angry. His words come out rushed, and cynical. “Listen, I know what everyone’s about. I been around long enough to know that no one ever helps anyone unless they want somethin’. You come around, treatin’ me so nice, spendin’ time with me, takin’ me under ya wing. If ya don’t want me like that, then you’re in for a disappointment, mate, ‘cause I got nothin’ left ta give!”

Jesse stares at Junkrat in dismay, who stares back with a look in his eyes like he’s two seconds from bolting. Jesse’s struggling to find the words for what he needs to say. What _can_ he say to this? “I—God, Jamie—I don’t feel that way about ya _at all_. I mean, you’re just a kid, how could I—”

He pauses to take a deep breath in and collect himself. “I’m bein’ nice to you because you’re an amazing person. You’re funny, you’re witty, you’re gonna do some great things some day, kid, and I hope I’m there to see them. But honest to God, Jamie, you’re like a little brother to me. I’m helpin’ you for your sake, not mine.”

Junkrat looks at him with uncertainty. “I—I dun believe ya. No one’s that nice.”

Jesse places his hand on his heart, and looks into Junkrat’s eyes with as much sincerity as he can muster. “I swear, Jamie: I got no ulterior motives here. To be honest, I see a lot of myself in you, from when I was your age. I wanna help you like I hoped someone would’ve done for me.”

Junkrat seems smaller than he’s ever seemed to Jesse before. He’s practically huddled into himself, and he flinches when Jesse puts a hand on his shoulder. “Jamie, you’re worth so much more than what you think. You’ve got a bright spark, good humor, and I know you’re going to go far. I wanna see you get there, accomplish things you never thought you’d get to do when you believed your life was nothin’ but a dead end.

“I was there myself once, deep in a cut-throat gang where if you didn’t obey the peckin’ order and do what was asked of you, you were dead. I never thought I would amount to anything more than what was expected to me. But now I’m out, and it took me a while to see what I was worth, too. I know you can do it, Jamie. I wanna bring that out in you.”

Junkrat’s eyes are shining as he looks at Jesse, and then he sobs, tears spilling out of his eyes as he hugs Jesse close. Jesse lets a deep breath escape from him, taking the tension with it, and holds him back.

He really does see so much of his younger self in Jamie. Now he wants to help Jamie see that he can amount to so much more than he ever could in the Outback, and be worth more than just a body. _God_ , Jesse wants to shudder just thinking about it.

Right then and there, he swears that he will do whatever it takes to keep this kid safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Junkrat.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by new canon from the Uprising update! Just because I didn't know about it until, like, this week, I'm gonna say that the Omnic Uprising in King's Row does _not_ happen in this universe.

It only takes a half-believable lie to get Junkrat off the hook for training the next day. The poor kid still looked like he was liable to puke at any second, so Jesse went to Browning that night and told him that Junkrat was sick with a cold. As for his training, well, Hawthorne didn’t even have to ask why when Jesse told him that he wouldn’t be going to that for a bit either. He already knew, after all. As expected, he didn’t argue.

It’s really a shame. Jesse’d had a better opinion of Hawthorne before the incident in the training room. He hadn’t seen him as a pushover who would let his manchild friends “get even” with a fourteen year-old.

Fortunately for everyone, nothing of note happens after that night. Junkrat heals up well enough from whatever minor poisoning he got from the simulation serum, and he’s back on his feet in no time. Browning’s just happy to have him back, and Hawthorne concedes to let Jesse observe the rest of Junkrat’s training sessions.

The hovering embarrasses Junkrat to a degree. He’s clearly more interested in brushing off what happened to prove that he’s strong, but Jesse isn’t ready to let him out of his sight again.

“Y’ain’t me mother, McCree,” Junkrat scoffs one morning after another uneventful training session.

“I’m not! It’s just that I’m not going to leave my friend alone with the people who harmed them,” Jesse argues.

Junkrat rolls his eyes, but Jesse knows he secretly enjoys his companionship. After all, back when he was in the infirmary, Junkrat couldn’t even bear to be away from him for more than a few days. Jesse won’t use that against him, though. In reality, he _wants_ Junkrat to learn independence. Jesse won’t always be around, after all. He’s got missions of his own.

Speaking of missions, it’s a few months into Junkrat’s training when he first goes on a real one with the rest of the team.

Before the group meeting, Reyes takes the time to explain the mission to Junkrat. Jesse knows that it’s another subtle way of showing he cares.

“Blackwatch has—for a long time now—been tracking the movements of a small terrorist cell calling itself Talon. They do all sorts of malicious crimes, from assassinations to bombings—” Junkrat’s eyes light up at that, “ —to corporate espionage. Recently, there’s been a string of robberies and property destruction happening all across Europe. It’s really more of a rampage, actually. They’re petty crimes on a grand scale, and yet Talon is claiming responsibility for them, despite it not really being their _modus operandi_.”

“That means their sort of signature crime,” Jesse clarifies for Junkrat upon noting his confusion.

Reyes continues, “We’ve received intel that there’s going to be an attack on a bank in King’s Row a few days from now. We’re going to wait around the target until the culprit shows themselves, and then we’ll go in and stop their crime spree in its tracks.”

Junkrat nods. “Sounds easy enough ta me.” He thinks for a few minutes before suddenly getting excited. “Ya want me ta booby trap the place? Whoever it is opens the door, and just _blammo_! No more bad guys.”

Reyes chuckles. “The thought had crossed my mind. I want you to show me what you can do that’s discreet and does only a small amount of destruction, though. We don’t want too much collateral damage here.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Junkrat says with a pout.

Reyes shrugs. “Our jobs aren’t always fun. It’s just the luck of the draw what you end up with, kid.”

Jesse rolls his eyes at that, but says nothing, because if he didn’t know any better, Reyes sounded a little… bitter?

Before he has time to ponder over it any more, Reyes gestures for them to follow him inside the meeting room. “It’s go time,” he quips as he opens the door.

Junkrat follows him eagerly inside, and Jesse trails behind them. He can’t pretend he isn’t excited, though. Recently, he’s felt a bit more confined to the base than he’s really comfortable with. There are more and more restrictions on what they can and can’t do coming down from the top brass, and Jesse can feel how it’s chafing with Reyes and the other members of Blackwatch. They’re all used to more freedom than they’ve been getting as of late.

 _Oh well_ , Jesse thinks with a sigh, _Not much we can do about that_.

——

After the whole team is briefed on the plan, the group begins to get ready for the mission. Reyes ends up heading off with Junkrat to see what sort of minimal damage traps he can set up, whereas Jesse is left on his lonesome. That’s alright, though. It’s nice to have some down time before a mission.

He ends up walking around the base, smoking one of his favorite brands of cigars. His wanderings end up taking him to the medical area. His feet, on autopilot, brought him back to the place he’d been spending so much of his time for the past few months. He doesn’t mind, though. Maybe he’ll flirt some more with the receptionist.

As he walks in, however, the first person he sees is Ziegler’s intern. Camory immediately makes a beeline for him.

“Oh, McCree! This is perfect timing. Dr. Ziegler wanted to see you.”

“Sure thing,” Jesse says, bemused. He wonders what she wants to tell him. _Maybe she’s got another friend for me,_ he thinks, and chuckles quietly to himself as he follows Camory deeper into the infirmary.

They end up turning sooner than they would for quarantine, however, instead making their way toward the cybernetics department. Dr. Ziegler is waiting in a chair in the sort of common area of that ward, tapping away on a tablet. Out of deference, he extinguishes his cigar and tucks it back into its box.

“Ah, Jesse, good to see you. I have someone I’d like you to introduce you to!”

Jesse feels surprise flash through him. He’d been joking with himself before, but apparently Dr. Ziegler actually has a new person for him to meet. “Sure, Doc. Who is it?”

“You'll see,” she says as she stands and begins to walk down the hallway. They soon arrive at a door with no name outside it, which she then knocks on. A quiet, hoarse voice responds from inside, “Is that you, Angela?”

Dr. Ziegler smiles at the sound. “Yes, it’s me. I have a visitor for you.”

When there comes no further comment from whoever’s inside the room, Dr. Ziegler opens the door. In the split second before she flips the lights on, Jesse sees a pair of glowing red eyes staring at him.

He stops himself from screaming like a wimp as light floods the room. Instead, he is filled with a sense of amazement at what he sees before him. Laying in a bed across from him is a… man? It’s honestly hard to tell, because so much of him is comprised of sleek metal and glowing red wires. Only a few parts of his chest, left arm, and head is actually skin, and what’s there is incredibly scarred.

“ _Yo_ ,” he says, voice low.

“Howdy,” Jesse returns, proud of how he keeps his voice from shaking.

With a smile still on her face, Dr. Ziegler turns to Jesse and says, “Jesse, this is Genji. He’s going to be a new agent of Blackwatch, and I thought it fitting to introduce you, given how invested you seem in new recruits.”

“How are ya, Genji?”

“I’ve been better,” he says, tone bitter. “But Dr. Ziegler saved my life, so I suppose I could be worse off.”

Jesse nods. “Yeah, she’s a miracle worker.”

Genji nods and looks back at Dr. Ziegler, and even with his red eyes and partially obscured face, Jesse can tell his expression has softened. But then the moment passes, and he looks away.

“It is good to make your acquaintance, Jesse,” he says. “But I am very tired.”

“Of course,” Dr. Ziegler says immediately. “Don’t strain yourself too much, Genji.”

“I won’t.” He says, and then it’s suddenly the end of the conversation.

Dr. Ziegler leads them out of the room and back to the common area. Then, she turns to look at him. “So?”

Jesse does in fact have a lot of questions. “When did he get here?”

“Well, we’ve actually had him for longer than we’ve had Mr. Fawkes, if you can believe that. I’ve been spending a lot of time upgrading him and making sure he’ll be in good working order for when he joins the team.”

“Good working order, huh?” Jesse remembers Genji’s appearance and laughs. “Not gonna lie, it’s a bit of an edgy color scheme.”

“Oh, Jesse,” Dr. Ziegler scolds, “Like you have any room to talk.”

Jesse shrugs; he can’t technically deny it. Dr. Ziegler continues, “And besides, it was mostly Reyes’ input. Said it would make him more intimidating.”

He _had _noticed the Blackwatch logo on Genji’s chest. “He doesn’t seem too intimidating once you get past his appearance, though.”__

__“I agree,” she says with a soft smile. Then she blushes and looks away. “But he’ll get there. He’s already had quite the extensive training in _shuriken-jutsu_ , and he’s good with swords as well. Reyes has a lot of faith in his potential to aid Blackwatch.”_ _

__Jesse frowns. “Why hasn’t he said anything to the team about him?”_ _

__Dr. Ziegler winces. “I suppose it’s a sort of secret? Genji was in pretty dire straits when we found him, and we took him in rather on a whim. Reyes seems to intend to make a weapon out of him. I can’t say I agree with that, but he says that ‘it is not for me to question.’” She imitates Reyes’ voice with a disapproving look on her face._ _

__“You seem pretty involved, though,” Jesse persists. “He’s like a marvel of prosthetic engineering, if you ask me.”_ _

__“Oh, it’s not a question of prosthetics. We had to integrate cybernetics into his body to the extent where none of it can be removed.”_ _

__Jesse nods. “Yeah, the guy looked like minced meat.” He casts a sideways glance at Dr. Ziegler. “Why couldn’t you use cybernetics for Jamie’s arm and leg?”_ _

__“Oh, that’s simple,” Dr. Ziegler says with a laugh. “We couldn’t convince him to implement cybernetics in time. You saw how much he was opposed to even getting prosthetics! By the time you got him to agree to that, his stumps had healed over, and it was too late to do anything.”_ _

__“So you use cybernetics on raw wounds, then?”_ _

__“Yes,” Dr. Ziegler nods. “I have perfected my nanobots to the degree where they can begin reconstruction of a damaged body part in very little time after the initial injury. It could save innumerable lives on the battlefield!” Her eyes flash with excitement at that._ _

__Jesse smiles at her; he can really tell how passionate she is about this. “I’m glad to hear it, Doc. Good to know you’ve got my back if I ever lose something important.”_ _

__“You’re certainly reckless enough for that to happen,” she says with an admonishing look. “But I’d rather keep you in one piece, if that’s alright.”_ _

__Chuckling, Jesse says, “That’s more than fine with me, Angie.”_ _

__With that, the two head back to the entrance of the medical bay. Once Jesse hits the outdoors, he takes out his cigar and lights it up again._ _

__Dr. Ziegler wrinkles her nose. “Don’t you know that smoking’s bad for your health, Jesse?”_ _

__Jesse just laughs. “It don’t matter. I have faith that you can patch me back up, Doc.” She pushes his arm in exasperation, making him laugh even harder._ _

__He may be excited for the mission, but it’s moments like this that he thinks of and misses when he’s far from home._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to wrapping up the first part! Hope you're as excited as I am for part two ;)


End file.
